


Like Flame

by Eternallost



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff, Loss of Virginity, One Shot, Reunion Sex, Reunions, Throne Sex, book continuation, premise from the show, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 09:37:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18657796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eternallost/pseuds/Eternallost





	1. Chapter 1

He’d spent many nights dreaming of arriving in Winterfell, falling to one knee and pledging his loyalty to the one damn person in the world who deserved it. The one he’d failed in so many ways so long ago. Half the nights he’d woken up hard from all the impossibilities his mind could conjure of kneeling at her feet. He couldn’t bring himself to take it in hand, coward that he was. After all those years of dreaming, the dog hadn’t even shown himself to his mistress. Her hair appeared more of a flame than fire, spurning him away with fears of cruel rejection and blame and disgust. If she threw the dog out now he’d become bones beneath a tree somewhere. And it wasn’t the wights that would do it to him.

The wolf bitch was the first to find him. A nose fitting of her name. Must have been in heat after the blacksmith. At least someone was getting fucked.

“What are you doing here?” her lip curled.

“Aye, you left me for dead,” he pointed his newly forged axe at her.

She was silent for a moment before replying, “I robbed you first.”

He laughed low at that one. “You’re one cold bitch, aren’t you?” He passed her by, “Maybe that’s why you’re still alive.”

“Wait.”

He stood in his tracks, examining the craftsmanship. It wasn’t as if he were following her orders. Only one Stark girl deserved that.

“She thinks you’re dead.”

His face remained impassive, away, “So?”

“ _So?_ ” She scoffed, “You owe it to her to walk in there and say you’re not. What, do you only come out at night? Drifting through the walls like some ghost?”

He turned and gave a cruel smile, “I _am_ a ghost. The ghost of unpleasant memories dug up from the muck of murder and riots and torment. Best to not haunt the pretty little bird with my presence.”

Her face was cold and for a moment he could see the Tully in her eyes. “She’s not, you know.”

“Not what?”

“Not some bird in a cage. Not any longer.”

He turned without another word and headed out into the growing wind. In the noise it sounded like, “ _You should ask her about her summer silks_.”

Some days he would walk up to the stone walls and turn back around. Others he would dare to move inside, carrying a stack of firewood for the hearth high enough to hide his face. For all those years of dreaming, he could never find the right words to say. He wasn’t sorry for what he’d done. Not really. Though he was sorry for what he hadn’t. He should have carried her off biting and screaming, crying for her mum, rather than let her marry the imp. Rather than let her fall under the roaming appendages of that prick Littlefinger. If he could he would kill that man all over again. The imp was still a possibility. He would gut him with the flick of his wrist at her say so. Even if it meant the dragon bitch would bite off his head. It would be worth it. For her.

It was one night on the wall walk that his fate was sealed. She stepped forth from the parapet, a vision in fur. He cursed under his breath. Sandor stepped back, out of the torch light, as she stepped forward. Her blue eyes dancing in flame. “You _are_ alive,” she exhaled as if she’d been holding her breath for far too long.

“Unfortunately,” he answered, “my Lady.”  

“Where were you?” She hissed, her eyes looking him square in the face to his disconcert.  

He snorted, “What does it matter?”

“It matters a whole damn lot.” She straightened her back, recalling herself.

“So the little bird can curse now?”

She laughed without mirth. “And so much more. Which is it Sandor, am I a bird or a lady?”

He swallowed at her use of his name. “…Which would you prefer?” was nearly lost in the wind.

“Sansa,” she gave a small smile. “You may call me Sansa.”

“Sansa…” his gravelly voice tested the name he’d only spoken to himself in secret.

She searched his face for a moment, looking for gods know what, until she nodded in affirmation. “We need to talk.”

* * *

 

The throne room was empty at the hour of the wolf. He watched as she took her rightful place behind the long table, the fire lighting her braided hair. The Northern style at last. She was truly a queen in his eyes. More than a queen, if that were even possible. “Talk.”

“Asking the old dog to speak? I’d roll over if my leg weren’t shit.”

She ignored his rebuff. “As I understand it the Hound is dead.”

“Aye. You could say that.”

Her eyes flicked to his. “Shame. I could have used a Hound.”

He squinted slightly. Was she playing with him now? “And what would you use a Hound for… Sansa?” Her name felt taboo, especially echoing off the throne room walls. He half expected a Stark to come out of the crypt and chop off his balls.

She stood and warmed her hands in front of the fire. “There are so many things a lady requires a Hound for when men just won’t do.”

“Ah,” he stepped forward feeling a familiar anger rising in his throat, “I thought I’d left those Southern shits behind. If you want me to do your bidding, then just say so. I’m not looking for no song and dance. Especially not from you.”

“I’m afraid you misunderstand me, Sir.”

“I'm no buggering _Sir_.” He placed his hands forcefully on the table.

“Good,” she turned back with a smile, her face inches from his. “You haven’t changed.”

His eyes flicked to her lips as his anger turned into something else entirely, “…What would you use a Hound for, Sansa?”

“Not looking for a song, Sandor?” she tilted her head in mock innocence, “Especially _not_ from me?”

He took a deep breath through his nose. She smelled of lavender and lemon and goatsmilk.

“I seem to recall differently.”

He growled. “Don’t tease an old dog, woman. He still has fangs.”

Her eyes were a deep, impossible blue. “Do you know what wolves do to dogs, Sandor?”

“Perhaps.” He licked his lips at the impossibility. “Care to show me?”

Her lips were upon his in an instant, hands sliding over his face, his hair, his shoulders. He groaned at the intrusion of her little tongue, soft and warm and smooth. Doubt and shame flickered within him but he squashed it down. If this was what she wanted he would give it to her. He would give her anything. Everything. His broad hands came up the pelt at her chest, ghosting over her breasts. Even through the thick woolen fabric she moaned. “Too much damned clothing,” he spoke against her lips.

She unleashed the clasp, letting the cloak lay on the table as she did the same for him. “You as well,” she smiled against him. She climbed across the table, pulling him forward by his belt.

“Here?” His eyes raked over her, “Now?”

“Yes,” was all she said as she continued to kiss him.

He joined her atop the pelts from their clothing on the table. “As you wish,” he brought his mouth to her nipple, showing through the cotton and lace nightgown he’d only just noticed she’d worn under her cloak. She arched back into his mouth with a lovely sigh. She grabbed at the hem of his vest as he worked at her over the fabric.

Minutes later, he was naked to his waist as she ran the cool softness of her hands through the hair on his chest, down the ridges of his abs. Her fingers stopped on his biceps, squeezing. “Amazing,” she murmured.

He gave a snort. “Little bird’s never seen a man like this, has she?”

“I,” she suddenly grew meek, “I haven’t.”

“That’s all right,” he held himself over her, “I aim to erase those other pricks anyway.”

“Sandor,” she glanced down, mulling something over, before looking back at him, “there haven’t _been_ any others.”

He paused for a moment before he sat back on his heels. “What of the imp?”

“He never touched me.”

Sandor’s mouth twitched as he thought, “That prick Littlefinger?” Her face grew sick at that one. He was going to have to dig up his corpse and kill him again.

“He kissed me. And… touched me. But we never…”

“I’m glad the fucker’s dead,” was all he could say.

She laughed as she looked to the fire. “Yes. He was a horrible man. Wasn’t he?”

“Aye.” Sandor turned to the fire as well. “We don’t have to do this, Sansa. You’re a lady. I shouldn’t have… I was just like…”

“You say you shouldn’t have- yet you wanted to before?”

“Yes, but…” He turned to her, “Seven hells, Sansa, how could I say no?”

She grabbed his face between her cold hands, “Don’t you ever tell me I can or can’t do something because I’m a lady. You hear me?”

He searched her eyes, “Yes,” he nodded, “I hear you.”

“Now, Sandor Clegane, I want you to fuck me.”

His eyes grew wide as a smile came to his face, “Well, when you say it like that…”


	2. Chapter 2

“Are you certain?” Sandor looked into her eyes after they had kissed for some time. Even if that was all he got, he would take it and be grateful.

“Sandor,” she nearly laughed, “I thought I told you not to worry about the title…”

“Not that, little bird.”

She looked up at him in confusion, “Then what? I’ve barred the doors, no one can enter.”

“I… Isn’t it…” he breathed, “You should hate me, shouldn’t you?”

“Sandor,” she propped herself up on her elbows to meet him, “I should think this shows how much I do _not_.”

“Your summer silks,” he looked to her from on his knees.

“What?” Her eyes grew wide.

“That wolf- Your sister said something about them.”

“What did she say?” Sansa sat up.

“I knew it.” He shook his head. “Some sort of evidence of a grudge you hold against me, isn’t it? This dog’s gotten too old to smell a lie! It was all too good to be-”

“Sandor.”

He stopped and looked at her face peering into the fire.

“I think she meant to bring it up to show you how much you meant, how much you _mean_ , to me. I thought you were dead.” Her eyes were wet when she looked to him again. “Promise you won’t hate me?”

“No, Sansa,” he cupped her face in his palm, so fragile he feared it would shatter- and yet she was steel. “I could never hate you. Never.”

“It’s… your cloak.” Her voice sped up, “She told me she’d left you to die and I brought it out to show her how you protected me.”

Sandor squinted, “My _what?_ ”

“Your white cloak from the kingsguard. I kept it with me since-”

“Since some drunkard nearly raped you in your own bed.”

“ _No!_ ”

He turned toward her, “That’s what I did, didn’t I? Pointed a knife at your throat and asked for a song! That’s why you should hate me, Sansa! **_Hate me!_** Not whatever the fuck it is you’re doing.”

Tears were falling down her face and Sandor felt sick. “But you didn’t did you?”

“What?” He pulled his face from his hand.

“You didn’t have your way with me.”

“I could have.”

“Could have, and yet you didn’t. Sandor,” she took a shaky breath, “if I should have anything to hate you for, it’s how you left the keep without me. It’s how you came back to Winterfell only to hide in the shadows and make me doubt my own sanity. Sandor,” she placed a hand on his shoulder, “you’re alive. Don’t you want this? _Haven’t you always wanted this?_ Aren’t you _mine_?”

He examined her eyes and put his face in her waiting hand. “Aye, little bird. What’s left of me. It’s all yours.”

She closed her eyes as an expression of peace claimed her. “And I’m yours.”

“Now, you don’t have to-“

“You don’t get to choose, Clegane,” she found her way into his lap. “I’m so foolish that I imagined you taking my first kiss. I’m yours. Now, kiss me.”

“First kiss?” He marveled, “You must have strange taste to admire an old dog like me. Not some pretty little prat after all your songs, but _me_ …” He wound his fingers in her fiery hair, “Shall we try what you imagined, Sansa?” bringing her a breath from his lips, “Will you sing sweetly if I do?”

She looked at him from under her lashes, “Try it and see.”

He kissed her slow, unlike the frantic, gnashing passion that consumed them before. She let out a sigh as his tongue toyed with hers. Her hands were traveling over his broad chest, up to his shoulders, as her body moved of its own volition grinding him. His hand slid under the top of her nightgown, callused fingers brushing over her left breast. She sucked in a breath. “Always too much clothing,” he smiled against her.

“We should remedy that,” she grinned in return, pulling the shift over her head. She knelt with small clothes tied at her legs, her pale breasts free in the shadowy firelight.   


“Perfect,” he murmured in awe as he brought his mouth to the right and began to suck, his hand continuing to play with the left. The noise she made had his balls tight in anticipation.

“No fair,” she whined in protest. He chuckled in response, the low vibrations causing her to shiver. “You need to, _ah_ , take of your clothes as well.”

“Does the proper Lady want to see a cock?”

She kissed him, “This Lady _demands_ it.”

“Then, as you command,” he untied his britches, stepping out as he left them uncaringly on the stone floor.

She took in a breath and bit her lip.

“Does it please my Lady?”

“I’m certain it will,” she purred as she crawled over like the wolf she was, taking the length of him delicately in hand.

“Sansa,” he hissed as he bucked at her touch.

“Yes?” she looked up at him as her hands moved down to the base.

“More,” he kissed her, “I need more of you…”

“You’ve got me, Sandor,” she pressed her chest against his, her kneeling on the table and him standing. “I’m all yours.”

He growled as he lifted her, one hand on her back and the other under her thighs, “Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” she smiled shyly as he kissed her once more.

“I want to see all of you. Taste all of you.”

“Taste me?” She looked confused, “Haven’t you?”

“Not properly,” he laid her down on the pelts so her legs opened towards the fire. “Take your small clothes off for me,” he stroked himself.

She complied, tugging on the satin blue ribbons until they fell.

The sight of her nearly sent him to his knees. He didn’t need to meet the gods. He’d seen them already. He brushed a finger up against the wetness of her sex.

“For me?” His voice was like stones tumbling down a canyon.

“Yes, _ah_ , all for you.”

He knelt then, on his good knee, and brought his mouth flush against her.

“Sandor!” She cried out at the increased sensation. “You don’t, you shouldn’t…”

He pulled back, “Shouldn’t, or you don’t want me to?”

“I… It’s indecent.”

“Answer the question, little bird. You’re the one who brought me to the throne room to fuck.”

She blushed scarlet. “Dragon queen has Unsullied outside my door. She doesn’t trust me.”

“Dragon bitch can go get fucked. Good thing those Unsullied haven’t any cocks or I’d have to kill them.”

She gave a laugh. “I missed your mouth…”

“Here, was it?” He brought himself towards her again. “Tell me you want it, Sansa. Tell me you want it and I’ll give you everything.”

Her brows fluttered as she looked at his face, “Give me everything, Sandor.”

He brought his tongue to her flesh, lightly teasing until he was sucking at the core of her.

She threw her head back in silent exclamation.

“Have you played with yourself, little bird?” He settled a finger inside her.

“ _Ah_ , yes.”

“Know how to make yourself cum?” He coaxed her wetness.

“I… I do.”

“Have you cum to thoughts me?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she thrust her hips at him.

“Cum to thoughts of _me_ buried deep within your cunt? Calling out your name?”

“ _Ah!_ ” she tossed her head back with a hiss, “ _Yes._ ”

“I have too. You want that, little bird? You want my cock inside of you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she begged, “ _Please_ Sandor, _give it to me!_ ”

He brought himself up, kissing her deeply. “It’s yours,” he whispered into her hair as he aligned himself at her entrance. They stayed like that for a moment as they breathed and the fire crackled until he pressed inside.

Her body tightened at the stretching discomfort.

“Little bird?” He examined her face as he retracted slightly.

“ _Don’t_ ,” she breathed, “don’t stop, keep going.”

He kissed her as he continued slowly. Her head rolled to the side, her body less taut. Her legs circled his waist. “ _Mm!_ ”

“You like that little bird?” he stood as he thrust into her on the table, rubbing his thumb in circles over her clit. “Does it feel good?”

“Feels good,” she exhaled, “come here,” she held her arms out to him. He bent until their bodies were touching, kissing her deeply. He thrust like that as she groaned. He pulled back to tease her clit and nipples. Her eyes were half-lidded, “I want to feel you under me.”

To feel Sansa on top of him… His cock grew stiffer at the thought. As he withdrew she gave a cry of protest. He climbed on to the table, propping himself on his elbows as she crawled over him. Her perky tits bounced as she grabbed his length, looking at him as she directed it inside of her. He couldn’t help his sound of approval. He wanted to be inside Sansa Stark every damn minute of every day. He’d even kill the damned Night King barehanded if she asked him to.

“So good,” she moaned as she moved back and forth, her eyes closing at the sensation. He brought his mouth up to capture her breast. “ _Ah!_ ” she moaned. He continued to toy with her as her body sped up.

“That’s my little bird,” he moved to her other breast, “go on, make yourself cum on my cock.”

“ _Mm_!” her hips snapped up quicker every time she went down.

“Sansa,” his breath came harsher, “Sansa…”

She gave him the sweetest song he’d ever heard as she held him close, her body quivering around him. It took everything he had to withdraw, spending himself on his cloak beneath him.

Sansa laid boneless on the table watching as he pumped himself to completion. Her breath was slowing by the time he found his way beside her. Her hand met his as she placed her other arm across his frame. “Tell me again Sandor, tell me you won’t let them hurt me.”

“No one will hurt you again, little bird, or I’ll kill them. I promise.”


End file.
